


The Onesie Wonder

by chibi_nightowl, zappedbysnow



Category: Batman (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Case Fic, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Magic, Pre-Relationship, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, costume shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-11-15 04:43:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20860436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_nightowl/pseuds/chibi_nightowl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zappedbysnow/pseuds/zappedbysnow
Summary: Tim was...Tim was a toddler. Jason blinked a few times because this justdid not compute.





	1. Chapter 1

Jason snapped awake at the loud pounding on his front door. He rolled onto his side and stared blearily because there was something _ off _ about the noise, but he’d just fallen asleep after a long night of patrol so he excused himself for not giving a rat’s ass as to why. 

It couldn’t be his so-called family. They’d invite themselves in through the window, raid his fridge, maybe drink his beer. Okay, that was Dick and it was only the one time, but it was annoying as fuck. An assassin wouldn’t pound on his door to get his attention; if they were smart, they’d go for a headshot through the window while he was standing around in his underwear.

Still, as he rolled out of bed to put on a pair of pants from the pile of clean laundry he hadn’t had time to put away, he also grabbed one of his guns. This was the Bowery, not the suburbs where people went knocking on doors asking to borrow eggs or sugar or shit like that.

“Whaddya want?” he shouted at the door. “It’s ass o’clock in the morning and some of us are tryin’ ta sleep!”

The pounding stopped. “Jason! Lemme in!” a young voice piped up. 

It was very young. Too young to be Damian, his voice was just starting to crack – and wasn’t that a barrel of laughs every time it happened? Jason peered through the peephole but all he saw was a mop of black hair and what looked like a black blanket trailing along on the floor. 

The hell?

Jason shoved the gun into the waistband of his jeans, not caring that the cold metal dug into the small of his back, and opened the door a crack. And then opened it wider to let the little black-haired tornado wearing the top half of the Red Robin uniform dash into his apartment, dragging the cowl and cape behind him. He clutched the boots against his chest and Jason spotted the gold of the bandolier idiot-handles poking out of each one. 

Tim was...Tim was a toddler. Jason blinked a few times because this just _ did not compute _.

“What the fuck happened?” he managed to ask his replacement as he closed and locked the door behind him. More importantly, _ why _ was Tim even here? Sure, they were on speaking terms now, but that didn’t mean they hung out socially. Masks and hoods were the cornerstone of their relationship, allowing them both to engage in the time-honored Bat family tradition of repressing feelings and hiding behind snide remarks.

“Magic. What else would it be?” 

What else indeed? Jason yawned, too tired to deal with this crap. “I dunno. There’s always that powdery junk the shaman guy sprinkled on Beetlejuice that shrunk his head.” 

Even as a toddler, Tim was a master of the flat glare. But this time, he stomped his little foot, which was just too much for Jason’s sleep-deprived brain. “That’s a _ movie.” _

“What part of _ ass o’clock in the morning _ did you not understand? I just got in maybe an hour ago.” 

“Jason!” Tim’s brilliant blue eyes wavered, growing wider and wider until Jason had to suck in a breath because holy shit, who’d have thought Tim the Pretender Drake was also a master of the puppy dog eyes? “I need your help. You think I turned into a child just for the hell of it?”

“Stranger shit has happened to all of us.”

Tim dropped his gear and glared harder. It didn’t work, even if it did make his little nose crinkle up. “I’ll grant you that, but seriously, Jason. I need your help.”

“The last time I checked, I don’t have a magic wand hidden up my ass.” Jason huffed and returned to his bedroom to dig around in his laundry basket to find a shirt and some socks. It went without saying that he wasn’t about to get back to sleep anytime soon. “What about the others?” he asked, tugging the shirt over his head as he rejoined Tim in the living room. “You have magic connections, right? Call them.”

His head popped through the neck just in time to see Tim avert his eyes and his little shoulders slump, telling him he’d just struck a nerve. It was intriguing to see his normally calm and snarky replacement, the one who had so much control over himself that he could be a clone of Bruce, so expressive. Not that this was a major tell, but this was _ Tim. _ Maybe it was the transformation itself, but Jason had spent a fair amount of time around younger kids, and his gut told him it was the body itself. 

Tim had no more control than any other five-year old did.

Whatever happened next, he was bound and determined to enjoy the shit out of it. Because it would be awesome.

“I’m not sure who to call,” Tim finally replied, his voice small. “I – I can’t remember exactly what happened.”

Jason sighed and headed over to the sofa where he sat down heavily on the lumpy cushions. After a moment, Tim followed and scrambled up beside him, curling into the corner. The top of the uniform all but billowed around him as he pulled it over his knees. His little feet peeped out from under the hem and were engulfed in a pair of socks that were held on with strategically placed zip-ties. It really was too early to deal with this, but he was already making a to-do list, and clothes that fit were at the top.

“Okay, Timmers. How about you tell me what you do remember, and we can go from there.”

Like, why did Tim come _ here _ when he could have gone anywhere else, or called the Super-Clone to give him a lift? 

“I was near Gotham U tonight,” Tim started, picking at the rolled cuffs on his sleeves. “There’s been a series of small thefts from the university museum that I wanted to investigate. Nothing major, but one of the pieces happened to be a donation from my parents, so when the officials alerted me, it piqued my curiosity.” 

Jason wanted to laugh because no five-year old ever used words like _ investigate _ or _ piqued. _ Hell, he was pretty sure that was a Tim-thing, but he kept his mouth shut. 

“After some digging, I discovered there was no discernable pattern to the thefts. The artifacts are from all over the world. A small jar from Peru, a ceramic statuette from central Mexico. Wood-and-bone carvings from the Arctic. From the other side of the ocean, there was a set of jade earrings from China, an Egyptian funerary doll, and then my parent’s donation, which was from Israel. I started thinking that someone in the museum was working with either a private collector that had no morals…” Jason scoffed there, which made Tim grin. “I know, right? Who’d even think that?” 

“I bet the only completely legit private collection on the Eastern Seaboard is Bruce’s.” 

Tim nodded in agreement. “Checking provenance is something he’d totally do. And if not him, then Alfred.” 

“Exactly. Keep goin’.” 

The child sighed, frowning even as his little face scrunched up while he collected his thoughts. “I decided to break in to the university museum and poke around the exhibits, thinking maybe some of the other artifacts might provide a clue. Before I made my way into the exhibit hall, I heard someone arguing in one of the back rooms. It was late, even for people like us, so this guy was either there early or had been at it for hours and clearly needed a nap.” 

Jason vowed right then and there that for as long as he was involved in this, he was instituting _ naptime _ for Tim. The pain from his retribution would be worth it. 

“This is where it starts to get hazy.” Tim shifted and raised his eyes. “I remember the hallway. I remember the door. Then, somehow, I’m in the office and this older man is yelling and waving at an item on his desk, saying something about how youth is wasted on the young. There was a bright flash of light and I felt like I’d just been punched in the gut. I ran since magic was the last thing I was equipped for. Each step I took, it grew harder and harder to even move. At one point, I’m pretty sure I blacked out. The next moment I clearly remember, I was on the Bowery side of the Sprang looking like this.” Tim held up his hands. “My gloves are missing, but the rest of my uniform seems to be intact. Once I got my bearings and made a few clothing adjustments, I hightailed it here, hoping you’d be home.” 

Story over, Jason still had questions. “That’s all well and good, Timmy, but I’ll ask you again. Why me? I get that I was closest, but I’m not exactly the kind of guy people rush to when they have this kind of problem.”

Or any problem, really. Although, the Pretender liked to flaunt expectations, so it shouldn’t be that much of a surprise that he came knocking.

Tim leaned forward. “I’m here because I know that you’ll let me help find this guy and figure out what it is he did to me. The others,” he paused here, swallowed, then continued. “The others will sideline me, probably ban me from the Cave, and try to treat me like a kid.” 

“I hate to break it to ya, but you _ are _ a kid.” 

“I only look like one. My mind, everything up here is still the same.” Tim tapped his forehead. “I just can’t reach the kitchen counter right now.”

“Maybe you can use this as a second chance to drink more milk. Grow taller.”

The child’s glare would have been much more effective if he’d been an adult. “I drank plenty of milk.”

“Yeah, sure you did. What was in it? Chocolate?” There were times growing up when Jason would have killed for chocolate milk.

“You’re such a jerk. I should have gone to Dick and suffered the consequences.”

“Whatever you say, kiddo.” 

Tim scowled and all but exploded out of his corner of the sofa, pummeling Jason with his tiny fists. “I am not a kid! I am an adult!” 

“An adult who happens to wear what? 4T? 5T?” 

“You are such an asshole.” The kid flopped bonelessly against Jason’s chest, all the fight disappearing from him. It was oddly endearing. “I’m tired.” 

“You went from twenty-one to five over the course of who knows how long. I’d say that earns you a nap.” There, he’d done it. Naptime. Maybe he could catch a few z’s too. 

Tim pushed himself up just enough to narrow his eyes. “This is not a nap. This is a strategic retreat into slumber because I’m too tired to think straight anymore. Unless you want to give me some coffee?” 

“There is no fucking way I’m giving coffee to a toddler.”

The pout Jason got in return was insane because there was no goddamned way a child could look that adorable. Especially Tim. His replacement was a lean, mean, crime-fighting machine, powered by coffee, sarcasm, and as little sunlight as possible. Not this tiny, warm, nearly weightless bundle that wordlessly flopped back down and passed right the fuck out there on his chest.

What was wrong here? Or rather, what was wrong with him? This entire situation was raising all kinds of parental instincts he regularly pretended he didn’t have. Kids were cute and all, but it was more fun to rile them up, give them sugar, and then unleash them back on their parents. Tim, though… Jason frowned when he realized his arm was carefully tucked under Tim’s bottom, holding him close as he slept. 

Protecting him. Keeping him safe. 

Okay, this was getting far too deep for him. Tim was still Tim, underneath it all. Tim, who was the one person from his family that didn’t annoy him these days, that he could actually work with, and didn’t feel like punching in the dick each time he opened his mouth. 

He could do this. Because holy hell, this was something he had no intention of backing away from.

* * *

Sleep deprivation was all part of the job, a fact Jason utterly despised since he’d been planning to do nothing but spend his morning in bed repaying his sleep debt. The last several nights had been spent trying to prevent a brewing gang war from errupting into full-scale chaos. Those were always fun and while it was therapeutic to break kneecaps and bust skulls, there was only so much stupidity he could deal with and he’d reached his quota for the month. 

Sometimes, he felt like he was born old. Especially now.

Jason blinked and jerked his head, trying to dislodge the small weight on his chest and the even smaller hands patting at his cheeks.

“Wake up, Jason. Seriously, wake up. It’s time to work.” 

“Christ, you are worse than Alfie. Go back the fuck to sleep.” 

“Samuel L. Jackson you most definitely are not. It’s noon, Jason. We slept for almost seven hours.” 

Oh. Still wasn’t enough, but that explained why his first instinct wasn’t to throw the deadweight off to the side. 

“Fine, I’m up.” Jason punctuated the statement by rising from the sofa and promptly dropping Tim back onto the cushions while he stretched. The sofa was great for a nap, but only when he was lying horizontal. His neck would be bothering him all day. 

“Hey, watch it!” Tim protested, bouncing slightly. “Just because you can literally haul me around like a sack of potatoes doesn’t mean you get to!” 

Jason flipped him off and scratched his stomach. “Fuck off, brat. You want to be handled with, _ heh, _ kid gloves, you shoulda gone elsewhere.” 

“I knew I was going to regret this.” 

“Lemme take a piss and wash up, then we can figure out our game plan.” 

Tim mumbled something he didn’t quite catch and looked away.

“What was that?” 

The kid glared. “I said don’t trip in the bathroom.”

“Why?”

Tim scowled as he hopped off the sofa. “I had to use some of your hardcovers to reach the sink.” 

It was a sign that Jason’s brain had rebooted for the day because it helpfully provided him with the reason why Tim needed to wash his hands in the first place. “Aww, did little Timmy have a hard time reaching the toilet? Did you manage to flush, or did you piss on the seat?” 

“I am _ not that short!” _ Tim all but screamed at him, temper going from zero to sixty in nothing flat. 

The outburst shocked both of them though, especially Tim, who raised his hands and pressed the heels into his eyes to stem the tears that were already starting to stream down his face. 

Jason let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he’d held. That was – unexpected. “Okay, I’ll knock it off. Just…calm down and gimme a few minutes.”

Tim sniffed hard and stomped away, tripping on his tunic in the process, which did nothing at all to help a massive smirk from appearing on Jason’s face. Good thing the kid didn’t see it because he’d probably try to throw something at him and fail, his stubby little arms nowhere near what they used to be capable of. 

Christ, this was just too damn fun. 

The bathroom was as he’d left it, but with a stack of older hardcovers that had seen better days neatly piled up along the wall so they were mostly out of the way. Jason didn’t spend too long in there, his stomach waking up to remind him it was time for breakfast. Or lunch, because it was noon, but with his screwed-up inner clock, breakfast was whatever time he wanted it to be. 

In the kitchen, he found Tim at the counter, standing on a chair he’d dragged over in an attempt to reach the toaster. At least he hadn’t gone for the coffeepot. 

“Okay, let’s have a few ground rules here,” Jason announced as toddler Tim tried to crawl on the counter to get at the bread. “I don’t need CPS accidently getting called on my ass, so how about I make breakfast and anything else that requires a heat source.”

“I know how to make breakfast, Jason.” 

“Yeah, you’re a big boy and a capable adult. I’ll buy that because you haven’t put yourself in a diabetic coma like the one Dickie should be in, considering all the crap he eats.” 

Even Tim shuddered at that. “How he’s made it to thirty is a feat for the ages.” 

It sure as hell was. 

In what Jason felt was a massive concession, he set the bread down in front of the kid. “If you can handle the toast, I’ll get us some eggs. How d’ya like yours?” 

“I’m not picky.”

“Over easy it is.” 

Breakfast didn’t take long to prepare when four hands were involved, even if two of them were tiny and couldn’t butter toast to save their life. 

“What’s your plan?” Tim asked once they were seated at the small folding table Jason kept in the kitchen. His shoulders barely reached the top, even seated on two more hardcovers as he was. 

Jason sipped his juice. “Clothes for you. I got nothin’ here that’ll fit you.” 

“We can always roll and pin the cuffs.” 

“Right, and as soon as we step outside, someone will call the cops because they think I kidnapped you, dressed like that. There’s a thrift store just down the street. I can run down there real quick and grab a few things.” 

Maybe a few other items just to get a rise out of Tim because he could.

“And then?” The glass of orange juice looked immense in Tim’s small hands.

“While I’m out, I’ll make a call to someone I know. I assume you can’t reach your normal magic contacts, right?” 

“My systems are biometrically rigged. I don’t think they’ll recognize me as I am now, especially my voice.” 

That actually explained a few things. 

“Okay, so I’ll set you up with my laptop while I’m out, see if you can’t try and retrieve your notes or files that way.” 

Tim nodded in agreement. “Who’re you calling?” 

“My favorite asshole of an Englishman. John Constantine.”

* * *

Jason called as soon as he left the building. It went straight to voicemail. 

“Call me back, asshole. I need your opinion on somethin’ sooner rather than later.” 

Theirs was a complex relationship, consisting mostly of insults and a love of Guinness. But ever since he came back to life, Jason had a penchant for attracting the odd and Constantine was about as odd as they came. He was also a damned powerful magician who owed him a favor. By calling in his favor from Constantine for Tim, the Pretender would be in his debt. And, truth be told, he’d rather have Timmy in his pocket because that kid thought outside the box like no one’s business and had no problem letting him blow shit up if the situation warranted it. 

Tim even helped him set up the C4 charges once. That was a great night. 

The children’s section of the thrift store was not an area Jason had ever explored, so it took him a few minutes to figure out what was what. All jokes aside, 4T and 5T clothing was _ small _ and he had a hard time imagining Tim in any of this. Although the red t-shirt with the dinosaur on it looked like something he’d wear. 

A few shirts, some jeans with an elastic waistband that made Jason snicker as he placed them in his basket, socks, underwear, shoes – yeah, that seemed to be all he needed from here. Did the kid need pajamas? Probably. 

Jason was sorting through another rack when his phone rang. 

“What?” he asked without even looking at the screen.

“Well, well, well. If it ain’t my favorite American zombie.”

Thank fuck. He’d been half afraid he wouldn’t hear from Constantine for a couple days. “That implies you know more than one American zombie, you bloody wanker.”

“That does not sound right with your accent.” 

“Blow me. I got a problem and it’s right up your alley.” 

“Blow you in an alley? Did I hear you right? C’mon, I got standards.” 

This was debatable. “You’ll be spittin’ teeth if your mouth comes anywhere near me. Christ only knows where that thing’s been. You still in New York?” 

“Yeah, I am. Another day or two and I’m heading back to civilization. Whaddya need?” 

“Tim got whammied with something that turned him back into a kid. He’s still as normal in the head as he ever was, but physically, he’s about five.” There was no need to hide behind masks with Constantine; in fact, the occultist had known who he was from the moment they met a few years ago when Jason was wandering through London. Zombie bird, he’d called him back then. 

“Damn. All right, can you bring him to me? I can’t leave New York right now, but I can spare you an hour later this afternoon.” 

“I was hopin’ you could come here.” 

“You always do, you soddin’ Yank. I owe you a favor, not money and it takes money to get to Gotham.” 

“Fine, whatever. Where you stayin’?”

Constantine gave him an address and a time. “See you and the kid soon.”

“Yeah.” 

Jason hung up and checked the time. Shit, he needed to get moving if they had a chance of catching a train. What was he looking for? Pajamas, right. 

The last item in the 5T section had him pause, then cackle with demented glee that would do the Joker proud. The onesie could not be more perfect if it tried. He placed it in the basket and returned to the shoe section to grab the pair of kid’s boots he’d spotted before and ignored in favor of a simple pair of sneakers. To hell with the cost and the fact Tim would probably only be wearing these for a few hours at most. If he got a picture and sent it to Alfred, the old man would probably send him meals for a week.

Timmy officially had a uniform now. 

* * *

When Jason returned home, Tim eyed the clothing bags with suspicion, picking up on the fact that he was clearly keeping one from him. 

“Get dressed, short stack. We gotta catch a train to New York.”

“Huh?” The statement distracted the former teen wonder from the laptop like it was intended to. 

“Constantine is in New York and can’t leave for a few days. I figure you don’t want to wait that long.” Jason paused and gave Tim an appraising look. “Unless you want to go through the joys of puberty again?”

“Hard pass.” Tim snatched the clothes from the bag he’d been given and stalked into the bedroom. “I’ll be ready in five.”

“Lemme know if you need help with your shoelaces!”

“I hate you.” 

Jason snickered as he went to the kitchen to grab a few snacks for the trip. Tonight was going to be great, he just knew it. 

The trip to Gotham Central Station took longer than expected because apparently traveling with a kid meant walking at the top speed their stubby little legs were capable of. Tim tried to keep up and even resorted to holding his hand to keep from being separated as they wove through the crowded platforms, but Jason still ended up carrying him in the mad rush to catch the bi-hourly train. 

“Let’s not do that again,” he said when they were settled in their seats. 

Tim nodded, curling up against him as much as his seatbelt would allow. They’d decided on the way over that it would be best if he didn’t speak much where he could be heard since his vocal patterns were so distinctly unchildlike. 

The ride was uneventful, and Jason took the opportunity to read while Tim dozed beside him. His paperback had seen better days, but he wasn’t the type to complain, especially since he was borrowing it from Janie, one of the ladies of the night who happened to be his only neighbor at the moment. She liked torrid romance novels and he was in need of something brainless. It was a win-win as far as he was concerned, especially since she was devouring the copy of _ Sense and Sensibility _ that he’d lent her in return. 

As the train started slowing down, Jason nudged Tim lightly. “Hey, we’re almost there.” 

Tim yawned and rubbed his eyes, somehow appearing utterly adorable in the process. Damn, his replacement had been one cute kid. Shame his own parents hadn’t seen it that way. 

“Have a nice nap?”

“Yeah.” Tim leaned over to peer out the window. 

He had no sense of personal space, climbing over him as he was, which surprised Jason. Was this a Tim-thing? Didn’t seem like it, that kind of behavior was much more Dickie from what he remembered, but what did he know? It wasn’t like they hung out on the regular. 

“Your son is so well-behaved after a long trip like this,” the older woman seated across from them commented as the train came to a full stop. 

Jason looked up in surprise. Son? Tim? Oh, fuck no. 

But Tim, the little shit, plopped right down in his lap to bury his face in his hoodie, acting all shy. Of course, he was playing it up. Jesus Christ.

“Yeah, thanks. He’s a good kid,” Jason replied, trying for a worn out smile he’d seen once or twice from Bruce on the rare occasions he acted like a dad. “I’m tryin’ to do it right. Lord knows my old man didn’t.”

From the vicinity of his chest, he could just barely hear Tim laughing.

“I think you’re doing just fine, sweetie.” She patted Tim’s head as she rose and headed toward the door. 

The quiet snickers grew louder and Tim’s shoulders started shaking. 

Jason got to his feet, keeping hold of the giggling toddler. “You’re lucky it’s frowned on to dropkick kids.” 

“I just discovered the silver lining to all this.” Tim drew back enough to grin widely, revealing all his little baby teeth. 

“What?”

“And spoil the surprise? Nuh-uh.” 

“Behave or I’m calling Dick.” 

“It’s too late. You’re in too deep.”

Why the fuck did he have to be right?

* * *

Constantine’s hotel was just like him – shabby and a few years out of its prime, but refusing to admit it. How he was getting around the no smoking signs plastered all over the place was anyone’s guess because the man reeked worse than an incinerator at the dump.

Tim’s little face screwed up in distaste at the scent of his cigarette smoke. “I thought that brand was illegal here.” 

“Anything’s legal when you can make someone look the other way.” Constantine smirked as he held the door open. “Well, would ya look at you? Tiny Tim now, right?” 

“I will destroy your knee if you call me that again.” 

Jason didn’t bother to hide his grin. Why didn’t he think to bring some popcorn? 

“Right then, mate.” Constantine turned to Jason. “How’re we doin’ this? Quid pro quo? Although, if I remember our discussion, you’re callin’ in the favor you owe me.”

“I’ll pay you myself,” Tim butted in, glaring up at the occultist. “Just as soon as I’m able to access my funds. Which, the sooner you figure this out, the sooner you’ll get.” 

From the way Constantine’s eyes shone, it was clear he found the proposal as hilarious as Jason did. What five-year old spoke this way?

“Kid, my services don’t come free and I only accept IOUs from blokes I know. Like your zombie friend here.” 

Jason decided stepping in would probably be in everyone’s best interests if the way Tim was eyeing Constantine’s knee meant anything. “Well, to be fair, Timmers here has access to more money than you or I could shake a stick at.” 

“Oh, to be funded by Batman.” 

“Nah, there’s too many strings attached. But the kid’s right. He’ll pay you as soon as his fingerprint works properly again.” 

Constantine sighed and shot Jason an aggrieved look. “You’re takin’ all the fun outta the negotiations." 

“Someone has a bedtime.” 

This time, Tim did kick a knee. His. 

“Will you _ please _ take this seriously? I swear to God, as soon as I can hold a batarang properly again, I am shoving it so far up your –” 

Jason slapped a hand over Tim’s mouth and grinned. The kick hadn’t done a damn thing, but fuck was it cute. “Now, now. Only adults get to say the fun words.” 

If looks could kill, he’d be a dead man again. 

Constantine shook his head. “As much of a riot as this is, you didn’t come all the way here to bicker. I’ll accept an IOU from you, Mr. Drake, if Jason here is vouching for you. He might be a zombie, but he’s a decent enough one. Doesn’t eat brains or give off weird scents.” 

Tim licked Jason’s palm, forcing him to release the kid with a loud, “Hey!”

“Thank you, Constantine. Now what do you need me to do?” 

“Take off your shirt and just stand there.”

Tim complied and Constantine walked around him, muttering under his breath. He poked him a couple times, once between the shoulders and the other in the center of his chest. To Jason’s surprise, the man knelt before Tim and looked him dead in the eye. “Tell me exactly what you remember.” 

The story came spilling out again, without any major deviations from what Jason had heard earlier in the morning. “…My gloves are missing, but aside from those, everything I was wearing was intact. Jason was the closest to my location, so I went to him.”

No need to state what would have happened if Tim had shown up anywhere else. He’d be sitting in Alfred’s kitchen eating cookies right now wearing something Bruce probably wore at his age because the old butler never got rid of anything if he could avoid it. There would be no chance the kid could get anywhere near the Batcave, not until whichever magic user Bruce summoned arrived and even then, Dick and Alfred would bundle him right out after they were done. 

“Alright then.” Constantine rocked back on his heels. “You’ve been cursed. Well, sort of. It’s an incomplete curse, which, considering the circumstances, is probably for the best.” 

_ “Cursed?” _ Jason and Tim manage to spit out at the same time.

“How is that a good thing?” Tim continued, eyes big and wide. Damn, he was good at the puppy dog look, even when he wasn’t trying.

Constantine shrugged. “If it was the full curse you wouldn’t be here right now. Probably still wandering around Gotham in your oversized costume making doe eyes at whoever snatched you up. What I’m gettin’ at is that you still have your memories, your sense of self. If the curse had done its job, you wouldn’t even have those.” 

Jason let out a slow breath. That was bad, that was very bad and while he and Tim weren’t exactly on the greatest of terms, even he wouldn’t wish for the scum of Gotham’s underbelly having their way with an utterly innocent child who just happened to be wearing the wrong set of clothes.

“Okay, so if it’s a curse, then how do we lift it? There has to be a counter-curse, right?” 

“It would help if I knew exactly what had been used to curse you in the first place, Tim. If you can find that for me, then I can fix it.” Constantine stood and looked Jason square in the eye. “I’d hurry though if I were you. These things have a way of finishing themselves, so the longer you wait, the higher the chances of Tim wakin’ up some time and wondering who the hell you are and where Mummy is.” 

“Fuck.”


	2. Chapter 2

The train ride back to Gotham was quieter than the trip out, even with Tim awake and staring out the window the entire time. Jason could almost see the gears turning in that little brain of his, picking apart and analyzing everything Constantine had said. Odds were good he’d come to the conclusion that he shouldn’t sleep at all until they found the guy who did this to him. 

Adult Tim running on fumes was easy enough to deal with, he’d done it before with some previous cases they’d worked on together. Swap his coffee for decaf and add a sedative. Ten minutes later, Tim would be passed the fuck out across whatever surface he happened to drag himself to. 

Toddler Tim – this was a battle Jason would have to get more creative for. Thank God there was no coffee in his pantry, not in this apartment at least. 

From the train station, they made their way back to the Bowery, a black-haired, blue-eyed man with an equally black-haired and blue-eyed child. Small wonder the woman earlier thought they were father and son, Jason thought when he caught their reflection in the glass of some store. Two peas in a pod, both wearing what could be considered identical frowns. 

Even small, Tim still had that crease between his brows. 

Nearer to home, Jason swung into a grocery store to grab a few things to toss together for dinner, as well as a toothbrush and some kiddie hair-ties because damn did his replacement need a haircut. Tim didn’t say a word when he was dumped unceremoniously into the cart, although he did shoot him a look that clearly expressed his displeasure before falling back into what Jason decided was definitely a funk. 

Good thing that would change when they got home. There was shit to do and masks were the best way to do it in. 

In his apartment, it didn’t take long to make spaghetti and toss together a Caesar salad. Tim sat at the table and watched, eyes dull as his mind no doubt continued to wander. 

Enough was enough. Jason slammed the salad bowl down hard enough to shake the table. “Will you fucking knock it off already? You’ve got time still, moron.”

Tim glared, eyes frozen as ice, the first real reaction since they left New York. “Do I? Do I really? Did you know that I can’t remember what Dad’s artifact is? The one he donated to the museum? I know I should know this because it’s what sent me there in the first place, but_ I can’t remember.” _

Oh. That was bad. 

“You’ve got it written down, right? Back home in your little wannabe Batcave?”

“Of course I do!” Tim stabbed his fork into his salad. “The basement that we can’t get into because my voice hasn’t cracked yet!” 

“And there’s no one else who has access to it?”

“No. I designed everything. It’s as secure as the Batcave.” 

Jason wondered if Tim was this dense all the time. “Are you sure? Doesn’t Barbie hack you guys for shits and giggles?”

The gaping fish look on Tim’s face made his cold shriveled heart swell with joy at having put it there. 

He dug around in a pocket for his phone. “If there’s one person who won’t bench you for shrinking five sizes, it’s her.”

Tim hung his head and sighed. “I’m an idiot.” 

“The jury’s still out on that, but here. Call her.” Jason unlocked the phone and handed it to Tim. It was huge in his small hands. 

When Barbara answered, her reaction was predictable. Tim made a face as he handed the phone back to Jason after he tried explaining what happened. “She wants to talk to you.”

“Yell at me, you mean.”

“I’m sure I’ll be next.”

This was true. Jason saved himself the time and put the phone on speaker. “What’s up, Barbie Doll? Tiny Tim not to your liking?”

“I’ve told you a million times, Jason Peter Todd. Do not call me that, especially when you’re the one asking me for a favor,” came Babs’s scathing voice. 

“Technically, it’s not me who needs help unlocking his super secret hideout. I’m just around to provide adult supervision and reach tall spaces since Tim can’t see over the top of the kitchen table at the moment.”

The screen on his phone flickered as Babs took over and switched it to videochat. “Where is Tim?” 

“Seriously? You guys had an easier time accepting I came back from the dead than some magic object shrinking Tim.” Jason held his phone toward Tim. “Say hi.” 

The kid waved and rolled his eyes. “Barb, Jason had nothing to do with this. Yes, he’s being a dick about it and won’t stop with the short jokes, but it really is me. And I need to get into my basement ASAP because if I don’t, then chances are I’ll get to experience growing up all over again.”

“Jason, go step outside for a moment. I need to ask Tim a few things.”

It was code for she was about to grill him for information only Tim would know and didn’t want him to overhear.

“Not a problem. Gimme a sec to turn off the stove.” Overcooked pasta was a cardinal sin as far as he was concerned. 

To give Tim the most privacy he could, because really, there were things about his replacement he didn’t need to know, Jason grabbed his bodice-ripper romance and headed out to the fire escape, closing the window behind him. He was high enough up that the rank scent from the alley below didn’t bother him too much and there was still enough light to see by. Still, the words blurred after a time and he cursed quietly about leaving his reading glasses inside. 

Growing old sucked. Who’d have thought it would happen to him?

A small knock on the window tore him out of the vapid world he’d fallen into. Tim frowned at him through the glass and pointed at the frame.

Jason chuckled and reached over his shoulder to shove the window upward. “You weren’t very strong as a kid, were you?”

Tim rolled his eyes as he climbed out. “Name me a single five-year old who was besides Damian.”

“Fair enough.” Jason closed his book. “What’s the plan?”

“For now, waiting on Barbara to call me back. I gave her all my access codes, at least the ones she’ll need, so she should be able to override my security soon.”

“She give you the usual crap about not going to the family for help?”

Tim shrugged, his little finger tracing the corrugated metal of the fire escape. “Not in so many words. She understands my need to be independent from the others and do my own thing.”

“Must be nice to have someone who does.”

“You do too, you know.” The tired look in Tim’s eyes was incredibly out of place on such a small child. “I like to think we’ve moved past our… less than stellar start.”

Jason snorted. “Is that how you think of it? Christ, you’ve got no sense of self-preservation there, do you?”

The little shit just smirked at him. “You’re not the first one to say this to me and I doubt you’ll be the last.”

Rising, Jason stretched, back popping in more than one place. “Well, if it’s any consolation, whenever you’re around, my first instinct isn’t to shoot you anymore.”

“Glad to hear it.” 

* * *

It was well after dark by the time Jason’s phone rang again.

“I’m in,” Babs announced without any preamble. “Give the phone to Tim.”

“Yes, ma’am. Do I need to wash your dishes too?”

“No, but you can make me dinner some night. Tim said you’re a good cook.”

“I made him spaghetti and bagged salad. Nothing to write home about.”

Babs chuckled in his ear. “Food always tastes better when someone else makes it.”

“I’m gonna have to disagree with you on that one,” Jason replied, thinking back to some of the meals his mom attempted when he was growing up.

“Let me be the judge of that.”

“It’s your stomach.” Jason handed the phone to Tim, who’d just emerged from the bathroom and a shower that he’d needed help adjusting the faucets for. “It’s the all-seeing, all-knowing eye.”

Tim laughed. “You’ve got your stories mixed up.”

“Hey, I’m firmly convinced Babs would make a fantastic evil overlord, beautiful and terrible as the dawn. Now go do your thing and I’ll get dressed.” Jason left Tim in the living room and disappeared into his bedroom to change into his Red Hood gear.

It was also time to spring Tim’s new uniform on him, the very thought of which made him chortle quietly. Chances were good that the shrunken Red Robin would try to take out his kneecaps, but he didn’t care. An opportunity like this only came once in a lifetime.

Tim entered the room just as Jason finished removing the tags from the dark gray pajamas. “Okay, so I’ve got the new access code and we’re ready to go whenever…” He trailed off as Jason held up the article of clothing. “What’s that supposed to be?”

“Put it on and find out. If you want to go out tonight, you’re wearing that and these.” Jason nudged the small boots toward him.

“You’re a horrible human being.”

“You can still give Dickie a call.”

Tim snatched the onesie out of his hand and picked up the boots, then stalked into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

“Five going on fifteen,” Jason muttered, returning to the living room for the rest of his gear and his phone, which Tim had nicely placed on the charger for him.

Small favors like this were about to go out the window, that much was certain.

It didn’t take long for Tim to come out, wearing not only the onesie and the boots, but also a scowl that rivaled Damian’s. He didn’t say anything, but the glower was enough.

Jason cocked his head to the side. Something was missing. Something… Oh, yes. He rummaged around in a grocery bag and found the hair-ties. Ripping one out took a second, and before Tim could run for it, he grabbed hold of the long bangs, plus some more hair, and wrapped the small band around it.

“There, now you can see.” Jason stepped back to admire his handiwork.

Tim made a frustrated noise that sounded like a cat who’d just had their fur rubbed the wrong way. “I am not wearing a Red Hood onesie!”

“It’s your new uniform.”

“You’re not even denying that it’s a onesie.”

Nope, he sure as hell wasn’t. Jason grabbed his phone. “It’s cute.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too. Stay still, kid.”

Tim whipped a batarang out of nowhere. “You stay still!”

“Do you really want to deny Alfred the opportunity of adding these to his photo album?” Not that it mattered, he’d already taken half a dozen pictures and sent them all to his email in case Tim decided to actually use the batarang. Besides sending them to Babs, it was the best back-up he could do.

“You’re going to use them as blackmail.” Tim glared and planted his little hands on his hips.

Jason lowered his phone. “You must have me confused with another little stalker who liked taking pictures.”

All the fight deflated right out of the kid. “Touché. Do you have a mask for me?”

“Uh… Damn.” He’d been so focused on the pajamas that the most important piece was still missing. “What about in your oh-shit handles? Got one in there?”

“They’re called bandoliers.”

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve caught your dumb ass with those? Red Robin, the black condom-headed wonder with his golden oh-shit handles.”

Jason stepped aside as Tim threw the batarang. It lodged in the wall where his head had been a moment before. “Tsk. Tsk. What would your mommy and daddy say about throwing things?”

Tim’s glare was glacial. “Try harder.”

* * *

The most expedient way to Crime Alley was by motorcycle, so Jason took Tim down to his hidden garage and sat him on the front of the saddle.

“Don’t touch anything.”

Tim stuck a finger in his mouth and ran it over the leather, glaring all the while.

“Little fucker. When this is over, I’m punting your ass off a bridge.”

“When this is over, I’d like to see you try.”

The mask problem was solved with a helmet that was far too big for Tim. It made him look like one of those bobbleheads, which meant yet another picture was added to Jason’s growing repertoire. But it was better than nothing, and while this wasn’t the first time they’d ridden together, it was the first time he didn’t take his turns at top speed, gravity and momentum and all those other physics involved that kept them from kissing pavement as they leaned so far over their knees brushed the road. No, this time Jason was a responsible adult because there was a child riding in front of him. The Red Robin cape was the only item of Tim’s that could be used as some form of protection and he really didn’t want to test just how durable it was against road burn.

Now that he thought about it, he should have gotten Tim a jacket when he was at the thrift store earlier. Dammit.

As the motorcycle came to a stop in the underground garage, Jason heaved a quiet sigh of relief. Riding with a kid was terrifying.

Tim waited to hop off until Jason put the kickstand down, the black cape he’d been all but swaddled in dropping to the floor. “Come on. There have been too many delays already.”

“Hey, I happen to think New York was a great way to spend the afternoon.”

“Constantine is a walking ashtray.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s wrong about what he said.”

Tim tossed him an impatient look as he raced up the stairs to his work level on his short legs. “I’m not arguing that, but I can’t help but think I’d have been better off not knowing. The thought of losing my memories, it’s bothering me more than I want to admit.”

Jason caught hold of Tim’s shoulder, stopping him. Turning the kid around, he knelt so they were eye level. “Don’t overthink it. Just focus on the here and now, and we’ll deal with what happens when you wake up in the morning.”

“What if I don’t have any memories of anything? What if this is my last night as myself?” There was a tremble in Tim’s voice, one that caused Jason to haul him into his arms and hold him close.

“Then I will move heaven and earth to get them back. You’re not a kid, you’re not just some toddler in a Red Hood onesie. You’re Tim fucking Drake, the biggest pain in my ass that ever was.” Jason was damn proud he managed to keep his voice level because Tim had turned into a blubbering mess during his little speech. “Now go raid your notes so we know where to start lookin’ at GU.”

Tim sniffed one last time and drew away, rubbing at his watery eyes. “Right. Okay. Hey, Jason?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

That was not a wobble in his own voice, it absolutely was not.

* * *

“Dad’s donation to the university museum wasn’t one, but two artifacts he discovered on a dig in Israel.” Tim glanced over as Jason snorted. “And yes, before you ask, these items were legitimate and properly documented. I’ve got my suspicions about some other things he found, but I’m not sure I want to open that can of worms.”

“Save it for the next time you’re on the injured list.”

“Probably.” Tim leaned over and grabbed another notebook. He’d had Jason retrieve everything from his workstation to bring to a large worktable where they’d spent more than one night in the past poring over evidence and mapping out strategies.

It never ceased to amaze Jason that it only took one shared case with the Pretender to realize he wasn’t as much of a douche as he always thought he was. That title belonged exclusively to Bruce now.

“The items are small and came from a tomb near the Sea of Galilee. The first is what the notes say is a wine vessel and the other is a cup, both dated from around the 1st century CE.”

“CE?”

“Common Era.” 

“AD is After Death, right?” Jason grinned. “Does that mean I have my own AD?”

Tim threw a pen at him. “AD stands for Anno Domini, not after death. In Latin, it means ‘in the year of Our Lord’. BCE and CE are used these days of BC and AD as they have fewer religious connotations behind them.” 

Spoken like the son of an archeologist/treasure hunter.

“Suck all the fun out of it, why don’t cha?” Jason decided then and there he’d have to work a JBC and a JAD into a conversation with Tim at some point in the future, just to see how he’d react. 

“Keep going and I’ll throw this at you.” Tim held up another batarang that he’d been using as a paperweight.

“Fine, whatever.” When this was over, he’d need to brush up on his Latin just to annoy Tim with it.

“There’s really not much more than that. The cup is what the museum reported as missing while the wine vessel should still be on display.”

“Well, it’s a starting point.” Jason held up the pictures of the two items side by side. An earthenware cup and pitcher. Nothing fancy or interesting about them. “They’re really not much to look at, are they?”

“No, but that doesn’t take away from the historical significance. Those are two thousand years old and perfectly preserved. Admittedly, the region they were discovered in is arid, which helped, but think about it – two thousand years. What kind of story could they tell?” Tim’s eyes shone as he thought it out. Jason had a feeling he was seeing a side of him that rarely had a chance to make an appearance. “Imagine, what kind of life did the person who used these have? Or the one who made them?”

Jason ruffled Tim’s hair, disturbing the hair-tie in the process. “You’re such a nerd.”

“Says the one who has an entire bookcase dedicated to Jane Austen.”

“Shakespeare’s on there too. Tolkien and Lewis too. Do you want me to read you _ the Hobbit _ or _ the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe _ for your bedtime story? Those are age appropriate.”

Tim narrowed his eyes. “_ The Hobbit _. But there better be hot chocolate with marshmallows.”

“I don’t have marshmallows.”

“Then grab a bag from my pantry. I’ve got three, I think.”

“Seriously? Who needs that many marshmallows?”

“I do.”

Jason wasn’t touching that with a ten-foot pole, so instead, he turned his attention back to Tim’s notes. “Neither of these vessels have anything to do with what turned you into the pint-sized wonder though.”

Tim scowled, but let the dig slide. It was hard to argue considering he was standing on a chair clad in children’s pajamas. “No, or at least, I don’t think so. I wish I could remember what was on that guy’s desk.”

“The way I look at it, we’ve got two options here.” Jason leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, staring at the ceiling as he thought aloud. “First, assuming the guy who shrunk you is your thief, there has to be some connection between those artifacts. A myth or a story perhaps, because it’s sure as hell not location or materials. Two, sounds like we need to do a little B&E over at the museum, see if anything triggers your memory.”

Glancing over at Tim, he laughed at the dropped jaw on the toddler. “Taking up fly catching?”

“No, it’s just… That was my train of thought exactly.”

“You’re not the only one here who was trained in logic and deductive reasoning.”

“I know, it’s just that you make it so easy to forget that you were too sometimes.”

“You mean all the time.”

Tim shrugged, then narrowed his eyes. “You plan much more than it appears, don’t you?”

Damn, there was that overly analytical brain picking him apart again. Jason hadn’t liked it the first time Tim did it and he certainly didn’t enjoy it now. Still, the kid deserved the truth, even if he’d much rather shove it under the rug.

“I’m fast on my feet and hella observant. Those two skills served me well on the streets before I got the brilliant idea to steal those stupid tires. I don’t know if Bruce ever realized just how quick I am since he spent most of his time trying to mold me into Dick Grayson 2.0. Adding critical thinking skills into the mix, hell, is it any wonder I can beat Bruce and Alfred at chess?”

Tim stood up straight. “Really? I never knew that.”

“Can you?”

“Yeah, sometimes. Alfred more often than Bruce. I just lose patience with chess because I think it’s boring.”

Jason chuckled. That he could see all too easily. “You should play me sometime. I can guarantee you, it won’t be boring.”

“I’d like that. But first, how do we want to run this?” Tim gestured at the mess on the table. “As much as I want to get to the museum right away, I feel like if we do so without preparation, we’re shooting ourselves in the foot.”

“A lot of this hinges on the assumption the guy who was arguing with himself is the thief. What if he’s not? What if he’s just a professor or a curator and you got caught in something completely unrelated?”

“He’d be in the museum or the university directory!” Tim hopped off his chair and ran for the computer bank. The chair over there rolled and he had a difficult time keeping it in place as he reached for the keys. “Jason, this’ll be a lot easier if you type for me,” he called out.

“So I see.” Jason sauntered over and nudged the chair to the side, sending the kid into a slow spin.

“You’re such an asshole.” Tim reached out to grab the edge of the computerbank.

“You keep sayin’ things like that, I’ll need to find a bar of soap.”

Tim scrunched up his little face. “Fuck. You.”

“Ask me again when you’re not the size of a jumping bean.” Jason grinned as Tim spluttered and sat down heavily in the chair, blushing redder than a tomato. “I’ve got standards too, so you can at least take me out to dinner before we move on to the fun stuff.”

“Ja- Jason! That’s not what I meant!”

The blush said otherwise, but Jason was not having this conversation with someone whose balls hadn’t even dropped yet. “You were at the Gotham University History Museum, right?” he asked, getting them back on topic. “Let’s see what I can find.”

Fingers flew over the keyboard, not as fast as he knew Tim’s could move, but still a respectable speed. It wasn’t long before he had the staff directory up.

“Here, start scrolling.” He pushed Tim’s chair closer to the keyboard and stood behind it so it couldn’t go anywhere.

This search took longer, but eventually, Tim stopped on a picture. “There. Him.”

“Professor Harrison Rathborne, History department.” Jason narrowed his eyes at the monitor and wished that he’d brought his reading glasses. “Ancient History and it looks like the rest are his office number, hours, and email. Oh, and a link to his published works.”

“Click on that. I want to see what he specializes in. That’s a rather broad area.” Tim hopped out of the chair and sat on the edge of the console, attention fully on the screen.

The number of articles far outweighed the number of books. Some of the academic journals Jason recognized, most he didn’t. If the titles were anything to go by, Rathborne had a rather eclectic area of interest.

“I think I see what’s happened here,” Tim said, rising to his knees to point. “See this? The next three articles afterward appear to be tangents.”

“Tangental research?”

“Exactly. Go back to the books.”

Jason did as he was told, reading the titles slower this time. “Hey, check this one out. _ Through the Mists of Time – the Journeys of Ponce de León in the New World. _ Wasn’t this the guy who tried to find the Fountain of Youth?”

“I’m such an idiot.” Tim shook his head. “I always hated history.”

“Well, I’d say this gives us a good excuse to visit Rathborne’s office. How’re you feelin’?”

“Tired,” Tim admitted and rubbed his eyes. “I hate this, Jason. It’s not even ten and I’m beat.”

Jason bit the inside of his lip. They had to make a big decision here, one that came with its own set of risks. If they went back to his place, or hell, even camped out upstairs in Tim’s renovated theater, it was entirely possible that when Tim woke up, he’d be missing more pieces of who he was. Short term, long term, who knew? But at the same time, a tired Tim was a cranky Tim and if they were putting their burgling gloves on, then they both needed to be on point.

Luckily for him, Tim came to the same conclusion. “Maybe a nap wouldn’t hurt. It’s been a long day. What do you think? Two hours?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. Where?”

“Here? Or upstairs, rather.”

“Fine. Let me download some of this stuff. I can skim it while you’re sleeping, see if I can find any clues or get a better feel for Rathborne.”

That took all of a few minutes and by the time they headed upstairs, Jason had his arms full yet again with sleepy Timmy. He held him close, just like he had last night, as Tim pointed him in the direction of the sofa in his living room. A soft blanket draped over the back while large throw pillows sat in each corner.

Jason sat in one corner and Tim scrambled off him to grab the far pillow, returning to prop it against his leg.

“Do I need to take the holsters off?”

“Nah, you’re fine.” Tim yanked on the blanket and part of it fell over him. Glancing up, their eyes met. “Jason? If – If I don’t wake up like myself, don’t leave me alone with Bruce. That’s not how I’d like to grow up again.”

Jason yanked off a glove and rested his hand on Tim’s head, the baby-soft hair tickling his palm. Deep in his chest, his heart raced, the thud growing louder and louder. “If it comes to that, I’ll respect your wishes. But like I said before, if it does happen, then it sure as hell won’t be for long.”

Tim’s lip trembled as he nodded and wiped at eyes that had grown watery. “Thanks, Jason.”

“You’re welcome, Tim. Now go to sleep.”

Taking a deep breath, Tim settled in and closed his eyes. 


	3. Chapter 3

Reading normally came easy, but as Jason swiped through the tablet, his attention constantly dropped to the sleeping child beside him. Each soft breath he took, each shift of his tiny feet under the blanket, everything was a distraction.

He knew precisely why. The fact that Tim might not wake up as himself gnawed at him, the confidence he felt earlier disappearing as the unknown loomed closer and closer. If the worst case scenario happened, how would he tell Bruce? And Alfred? Sweet Jesus, this was one of those times where he wished his bluff was as good as his bluster because he hadn’t the foggiest idea how to back it up.

At least, not while caring for a toddler.

“I swear to God, Tim, you’d better wake up with that big brain of yours mostly intact. A little memory loss I can deal with. Having to teach you to avoid my gun locker is a different story.”

Tim didn’t twitch, but Jason felt the shift in the air as he finished speaking, senses honed by years of training telling him they were no longer alone in the living room. A presence loomed in the darkness, one that inspired terror in the hearts of the weak. But after having spent too many of his formative years in the shadow of the Bat, all Jason wanted to do was throw something at him.

“If you wake him up too soon, I will not be held responsible for the temper tantrum later.”

Bruce appeared out of the kitchen, cape and cowl blending with the shadows of the darkened room. “What happened?”

Right to the point. Good. Not blaming him. Even better.

“Magic,” Jason replied, the flat tone indicating exactly what he thought about that.

“I hate magic.”

“Join the club.”

“How is he?”

“Sassy, sarcastic, and scared.” Jason’s hand dropped to Tim’s back, softly rubbing between the thin shoulders. “We’ve got some clues to run with and I took him to see John Constantine in New York this afternoon. It’s technically a curse, according to him.”

Bruce scowled. “A curse. Then why are you here?”

“Because Tim doesn’t want to go to the manor, doesn’t want to go to the cave.” Jason narrowed his eyes, tensing for a battle he hoped he could win with words instead of fists. “Bruce, it’s been less than twenty-four hours since the shit hit the fan. As soon as Tim wakes up from his little nap here, we’re headin’ out to track down our main lead. Stay out of it.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Bruce pushed back his cowl. “Why are _ you _ here? With him? Why didn’t he come to us?”

That fucking hurt. “You piece of shit. Think I can’t do the job, huh? That I can’t solve a goddamned mystery unless there’s a chance of explosions at the end?”

“I didn’t mean that, Jason.”

“Yeah, you fucking did. Why did Tim go to the bad Robin? Because I’m the only one who wouldn’t coddle him and treat him like a child. Tim might be tiny now, but he’s still got most of his big brainpower goin’ for him.”

“Most of?”

Of course, Bruce would pick up on that.

“Part of the curse. According to the walking ashtray, the curse is incomplete. Each time Tim sleeps, there’s a chance he’ll wake up with less and less of himself.”

Bruce loomed, somehow growing larger even when he hadn’t moved a single step. “Then why is he asleep right now? What are you doing to him?”

“Fuck you. Do a lot of babysitting growing up, Bruce? Tim’s already had one meltdown on me because he was overtired, I don’t need another. He decided it was an acceptable risk.”

“And if he doesn’t remember who you are?”

“Then I call Barbie while I track this asshole down. Alfred already has you, he doesn’t need another child to keep an eye on.” 

Bruce sighed and closed his eyes a moment. “Jason, you’re taking a horrible risk here.”

“Tell me about it. But it’s the same one you’d be dealing with if Tim had gone to you. I doubt Alfred would let you caffeinate a toddler to keep him awake either.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” Bruce begrudgingly agreed. Slowly, as though he were afraid Jason would lash out, he approached the sofa and knelt on the floor, peering at his sleeping son. “He’s such a small child.”

Jason hated to agree with the man, but it was true. “Near as we can tell, Tim’s about five right now.” Shifting, he dug into his pocket for his phone and opened the video he’d taken earlier. “Here.”

The screen lit Bruce’s face for a few seconds, the only sound in the room coming from the recorded conversation. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but Jason swore he saw him grow misty eyed before his iron will reasserted itself.

“You dressed him in a onesie.” It wasn’t a question.

“If you’d seen a Batman onesie on the rack, you’d have bought it too.”

Bruce didn’t argue and handed the phone back to him. “Be sure to send that to Alfred.”

It was as close to a blessing as Jason was going to get. “I will. I’ve got other pictures too.”

“Good.” Bruce gently rested a gloved hand against Tim’s head before returning to his feet. “If you should need help with anything, and I do mean _ anything _, please ask, Jay. You and Tim like to think you’re on your own, but you’re not. You’re both still my sons.”

Before Jason could retort, the big bad Bat disappeared, cape swirling behind him.

What the fuck was that about? He glanced down at the still-sleeping Tim. Since when was the Pretender on his own? Was this why he came to him rather than to Dick or Bruce? Because he didn’t think they would help him at all? Something was going on that Tim didn’t want to talk about. Wanted to avoid, most likely.

Sighing, Jason set down the tablet and rubbed his eyes. This wasn’t any of his business. Whatever was happening between Tim and the others, he didn’t care. He’d been doing his own thing for so long, it was easy to ignore the drama, even when Dickie tried to drag him into it. Come to think of it, the last time Big Bird had passed out on his couch, he’d been trying to talk to him about Tim, asking if he’d seen him lately.

He had, but it was for a case, which the Dickhead didn’t need to know about. It wasn’t as though he and Tim hung out and socialized. He was pretty sure that would just be awkward all around, but before he completed the thought, he paused. Tim’s impersonation of a cherry tomato downstairs earlier came to mind, making him realize that perhaps hanging out wouldn’t be all that bad once Tim was back to normal.

“What are you doing to me, Timmers?” he murmured, running his hand gently through Tim’s fine hair. “What the hell are you doing?”

* * *

When Tim woke up, it was with a sharp jerk and a small cry as he bolted upright, flinging the blanket off and onto the floor.

“Jesus Christ, give a guy some warning, huh?” Jason was more startled than he cared to admit, but he restrained himself from reaching out to make sure the kid was alright. Was this a Tim-thing or something else? Good lord, but he hoped it was a Tim-thing because the alternative was so much worse. 

Tim whirled around, eyes wide and so damned blue. His bottom lip quivered, and Jason’s heart sank, but then the kid scrambled up into his lap and all but buried himself against his chest. “I had the worst dream,” he said, speaking more into the red bat than to Jason. “Are dreams always so vivid as a child?” 

The fact that Tim was still speaking like normal was a massive reassurance in and of itself. If there were pieces of his memory missing, they weren’t short-term ones. 

“My dreams are always tinged with green these days so I wouldn’t know.” Jason rubbed Tim’s back, soothing himself more than the kid as he tried not to fall into that pit of despair. It was easier than usual with someone else to focus on. He’d have to tease him about his koala bear tendencies later. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No. Well, maybe.” Tim drew back and looked up. “I dreamt that I was with Bruce instead of you, but then Ra’s appeared and as soon as he touched me, I turned into a baby. Then Kon came and took me to Aunt Martha while Bruce and Ra’s had tea with Alfred at the top of the Eiffel Tower.” 

“Did you get to have pie?”

“You don’t feed pie to a baby.” Tim swatted him. “Which, now that I think about it, was the worst part of the dream because I really like Aunt Martha’s peach pie and that’s what she and Kon were eating while they talked baby talk at me.”

“That just sucks for you, doesn’t it?” Jason poked the kid’s forehead. “You all right up there? Besides dreams that are utterly impossible?” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be the one to believe six impossible things before breakfast? Bookworm.”

Jason was so proud of the _ Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland _ reference, even if he was sure it was from the recent movie rather than the book. “You say that like it’s an insult.”

“I read too.”

“Casefiles don’t count.”

Tim flopped back against Jason’s chest and yawned. “I’m not awake enough for this discussion. Can I have some coffee?”

“Hell no.” Still, Jason got up, curling an arm under Tim so he wouldn’t fall, and headed into the kitchen, swatting at the light switch to dissipate the gloom. Bruce had better not be lurking or he’d be forced to throw something at him. Probably Tim if he didn’t shut up about the coffee. 

“Just a small cup. Please?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely not. Alfred would have my ass if I even contemplated giving coffee to a five-year old.” 

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” Tim tried for the innocent look and Jason shook his head. 

“Not happening.” He set Tim on the counter furthest away from the coffeepot and opened the fridge. What he saw did not impress, but at least the shelves weren’t full of Red Bull like he’d expected. “How about some juice?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder. 

Tim glared. “If you tell me I need a sippy cup, I will set your apartment on fire.” 

“And people call me the asshole.” Jason held up a half gallon jug of orange juice. “I _ was _ gonna let you drink out of the carton but screw that. You lost your chance.” 

“Stop messing around and wasting time! Just get me something to drink, anything, and let’s get moving!” Tim started to climb off the counter and slipped as he lost traction. 

Jason caught him before he hit the floor. Christ, was this what being a parent was like? “This is why you need adult supervision. Here.” He handed him the carton, holding onto the bottom so Tim couldn’t drop it. 

The gesture still garnered him another glare, but Tim took a few healthy swallows without protest, although he did wipe his mouth on the sleeve of the onesie when he was done. 

“Alfred didn’t teach you manners?” Jason closed the carton and stuck it back in the fridge. 

“I thought you were my role model?” Tim batted his eyelashes, mocking him. 

“Then you’re taking your cues from the wrong person, Timmy. I’m a shitty adult.”

“You have better life skills than most of the adults I know.”

The sad thing was, this statement was very true. Rather than say something sappy, Jason scooped Tim back up. “Time to get to work. But first, someone needs to use the potty before we head out.”

Tim swatted the back of Jason’s head. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“I really do.”

Now was not the time to mention Bruce had been here. Best to save that for later when he needed leverage. “You go, I’ll go, then we’ll find some scissors and trim one of your masks down to size. Deal?”

Tim sighed, sounding more put upon than any other child Jason had ever met. _ “Fine.” _

“Great. Do you have any safety scissors? Can’t trust kids with sharp objects.”

“Jason, if you tell me not to run with scissors, I will stab you in the knee.”

* * *

All jokes aside, once they hit the streets again, Jason frowned as a new thought crossed his mind. The preferred breaking-and-entering methods of the Bats involved grapple lines and roofs whenever possible, which wasn’t exactly easy when hauling around another person. Tim was easy to carry but if he had to think fast and adjust his plans, he didn’t want to be swinging around with both arms incapacitated. 

A sign caught Jason’s attention and he swung the bike wide, turning before he even realized what he was doing. 

“What is it?” Tim asked, his voice sounding even smaller and younger through the comm they found in his workroom earlier. 

“A quick detour, I promise.” 

Jason stashed the motorcycle in a back alley and grabbed hold of Tim, not even bothering to let him walk through the muck. His boots were thick enough to handle just about everything Gotham could throw at him, but kiddie boots didn’t pack quite the same punch. 

Counting doors, he paused outside of one and gave it a onceover. No cameras, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t an alarm. He set Tim down and took out his phone, searching for the name of the store to see if it even carried what he was looking for.

“Hood?” Tim poked him in the leg. “It stinks out here.” 

“That’s what happens when you hang out in alleys,” Jason replied, distracted. 

“Then why are we in one?” 

“Because it occurred to me that I might need both hands free at some point tonight and that your stubby little arms and legs won’t be able to keep up.” 

Even with the ill-fitting mask they’d modified earlier, Tim’s affronted scoff and accompanying eyeroll were clear as day. “I think I’d rather wear the kid leash.” 

“Nope, one toddler backpack, just for you. You weigh less than fifty pounds, right?”

Tim sighed and shook his head. “Whatever, let’s just get this over with and without pictures, okay?”

That was easier than Jason expected. “Fair enough. When this is over, you can donate it or burn it, I don’t really care.” 

As he broke into the backdoor, he ignored Tim’s low mutter. “I’ll burn it in your living room.”

* * *

“Okay, I’m willing to admit this isn’t as crappy an idea as I thought it would be.” Tim peered around the side of Jason’s head to point down the darkened hall. “Turn left here.” 

Jason paused at the corner and cautiously looked around. The back halls of the Gotham University History Museum were dark, lit here and there by emergency lights that were a weak attempt to be in compliance with Gotham’s fire code. Far down the hall on the right, a light shone from one of the offices, gleaming faintly through the frosted glass on the old door. Odds were good this was their target, but only time would tell. 

“You’re just happy about the dart gun,” he said instead. 

“Hey, that was already mine.” 

“That you forgot you owned.” 

Tim wriggled in the toddler carrier on Jason’s back, sending it swaying. “Don’t go there.” 

“Sorry.” Jason was, really. The more he spoke with Tim, it was clear to see where the gaps were. Calling them out was counterproductive, so he just rolled with it, hoping those memories would return when Tim regained his adult stature. The fact he’d tried to kill the brat was a rather integral part of their complicated relationship and as much as he wished he hadn’t, there was no escaping the past. Well, unless Jason wanted a complete do over, which, no. His life, his choices, shit that most of them were. 

“The office should be on the right.” Tim’s young voice spoke in a hushed whisper, tearing him from his thoughts. 

“’Kay.” Jason walked down the hall, glancing at nameplates as they appeared. This stretch appeared to be mostly offices, small and crammed together. Tenure and seniority apparently didn’t mean dick in the academic world, or at least not in Gotham where space was at a premium. 

Then again, this city was a breeding ground for crazy, so why shouldn’t the university be the same? 

Coming up on the lit office, Jason read the name and backtracked several feet. “That’s the one.” 

“You setting me down?” 

“That depends. You gonna listen to me and stay put when I break down that door?” 

“Probably not.”

“Then you’re stayin’ right where you are.”

Tim sighed loudly. “Fine, I promise to hang back and eavesdrop while you scare the shit out of Professor Rathborne.”

“You just wish you were as intimidating as me.” Jason unstrapped the harness across his chest and knelt, setting the toddler carrier on the floor.

The kid that scrambled out of it was as far from scary as he could possibly be. Not that he thought Tim was much to look at even when he was normal, but Jason was willing to concede there were times when Red Robin was scary as fuck and every single one of those memories involved explosions and a rather maniacal grin that promised pain.

The toddler standing before him in a Red Hood onesie and a modified mask with a dart gun clutched in both hands did not instill the same fear. Especially since Jason had to fix his hair again when they arrived so he could see properly. 

Tim reached out and tugged lightly on the sleeve of Jason’s leather jacket. “Just don’t get whammied too, okay? If you shrink, we’re both screwed.”

“No, that’s when you call Oracle for back-up, remember?” Jason rose and Tim briefly clutched at his leg in an awkward hug.

“Be careful.”

Jason unholstered a gun and held it up. “Always. Stand back.”

The door was ancient and the frame was too, so one solid kick was all it took to send it flying into the wall with a loud crash. 

In the room, a middle-aged man in a slept-in suit scrambled back behind his desk, eyes wide with fear as he fumbled with the gun in his hands. Jason didn’t give him a chance, his own grip strong and steady as he bore down on Rathborne.

“Don’t even think about it, shit-stain.”

There were times when having a reputation as an unhinged, trigger-happy crime lord worked in his favor. The gun fell to the floor and Rathborne held up trembling hands. “Please, don’t hurt me. I didn’t mean to do it. I swear.”

Then again, with the way this guy was shaking, it was entirely possible he would crumble at the sight of tiny Tim’s oh-so-dreadful glare.

“Do what, exactly?”

“You’re here because of Red Robin, aren’t you?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Under his hood, Jason spared a moment to look around the office. It was organized chaos at best, with books and all kinds of crap piled on sagging bookshelves, but he was willing to drink the sludge Tim called coffee if a few of those boxes on the floor weren’t brand new. “Thinkin’ about a change of scenery?”

“N-No! Just packing a few things. Spring cleaning!” 

“Why do people always feel like they have to lie to me?” Jason cocked his gun, more for the audible effect than any real need. “Try again.” 

“Please don’t shoot me! I didn’t mean to hurt him! Did I hurt him? Oh god, I did, didn’t I? The ritual, he interrupted me and there was this light and then…”

“Jesus Christ, slow the fuck down.” The story didn’t exactly match up with Tim’s, but it was close. “Who else was here with you?”

“It was just me,” Rathborne stated in a rush. “Or rather, just me and her.” The man pointed to the wall on Jason’s left. A ceremonial mask of some dark, stained wood hung there. The eye slits and frown for the face vaguely reminded Jason of his own hood.

“You guys have loud discussions often?” Jason took a step closer to the mask but didn’t touch it. His shit’s-about-to-get-weird vibe was screaming in warning, making him wish he’d taken the effort to bring Constantine along with them tonight, cost be damned.

“She is my other half.” The professor’s voice took on a dreamy quality. “Thanks to her, I have discovered a way so that we will be together forever. The Fountain of Youth is naught but a myth, but there are other ways to gain immortality that are much more real.”

Dear fucking lord, was Rathborne saying what Jason suspected he was?

“If your immortality involves a bath in some really bright green water, I don’t recommend it.”

The professor sucked in a deep breath and leaned forward, eyes wide like he’d just been shown the way. “You’ve seen the Pits of Lazarus? They’re real?”

“Yeah, I had a nice bath in one a few years ago.” On a hunch, Jason swung his gun to the mask. “But that still doesn’t tell me what you did to Red Robin last night. Tell me, or she gets a third eye.”

_ “No! _ Don’t hurt her!” Rathborne lunged across his desk, his attempted rescue sending files and a computer monitor crashing to the floor. Already, Jason could hear Tim lecturing him about having to clean it all up in order to make any sense of the notes.

Whatever, that was a problem for future Jason to deal with. Calmly, he drew his other gun and planted the barrel square in the center of the professor’s forehead. “One last chance. What did you do to Red Robin?”

Rathborne wailed, honest-to-god tears streaming down his face as he sobbed. “I thought I’d failed. The map and the chalice, they were supposed to guide me to the nearest Pit of Lazarus. I’d prepared the water exactly as instructed to form the compass, made the appropriate sacrifices…”

“Hold the fuck up. _ Sacrifice?” _ Please let it have been a chicken. Or a goat. Goats were still popular for that sort of shit, right?

“She said I needed the blood of an innocent, of a newborn.” Rathborne glanced over at the boxes.

Rage flared through Jason’s veins, vivid and _ green _ as though he were choking on the foul waters of the Lazarus Pit right here, right now. “You son of a fucking bitch.”

Rathborne cried out as the gun struck his temple, falling to the floor and clutching at his head.

And then Tim was suddenly there, small and too tiny in his little onesie. A child who was no child. He held up his dart gun in both hands and shot the professor in the back. In seconds, the man stopped moving as the fast acting tranquilizer took effect.

Jason sucked in a deep breath, trying to contain his fury. There was no doubt Tim had heard every word. “You know that’s too good for him.”

“I know,” Tim agreed, setting the dart gun down and making a beeline for the boxes. “But we need a body, Hood. I don’t remember anyone else in here. I don’t remember any blood.” His voice shook almost as hard as his hands as he fumbled with a sealed lid.

Putting his guns away, Jason knelt and drew a knife, then sliced open the top of the box. Inside were a number of small plastic containers, each one carefully labeled. “I think you found your thief,” he said, opening one of them to reveal an earthenware cup packed in soft cotton batting.

“That’s Dad’s!” Tim held it up with reverence, the cup appearing so much larger in his small hands. “I know we need to return this to the museum, but…”

“We still don’t know exactly what was used to whammy you,” Jason finished for him. “I think it’s time we call Constantine and get his ass here. ’Specially since _ that _,” he pointed at the mask, “is giving me all kinds of heebie-jeebies.”

“Fair enough.” Tim set the cup back in the container and sealed it, then rocked back on his heels, eyeing the other box. “I’m afraid to open it.”

“Yeah, me too.” But someone had to, and it might as well be him. Jason sliced through the packing tape.

Tim immediately gagged, his face turning ashen at the sight of the smaller cold-shipping box within. There were cold packs lining the sides, much good those would do.

Slowly, carefully, Jason reached in and cut the clear tape holding the lid closed, then raised it. Even with the additional presence of dry-ice packs, there was no mistaking the tiny form packed within.

He closed the container, sheathed his knife, then stood. The green-tinged anger returned in full and he needed to hit something, to shoot, to run, needed to let it the fuck out before he drowned in the madness. Rathborne was an easy target and his body gave way with a sickening crunch as steel-toed boots met ribs.

But Jason only gave in once. He was better than this. He was _ more _ than this. The struggle to get where he was now, he would not let this sack of shit bring him back down to that primal level where there was only green.

“Jason?” Tim asked, cautiously tugging on his sleeve.

It was the tentative gesture more than anything that cut through his rage. This wasn’t about him. Yeah, there was a child murderer on the floor by his feet, but he had something more important to focus on. The kid was dead, there was nothing he could do about that, but Tim was right here and in serious danger of losing enough vital pieces of himself that he might as well be.

“I’m okay,” he replied, drawing in a deep breath. “I’m okay.”

“How much do you think it’ll take to get Constantine here ASAP? Six figures?”

Jason snorted and used the comm in his hood to dial the fucker’s number. “Sounds about right. Call your Super-Clone. I’m not waitin’ for him to get on a goddamned train.”

* * *

A couple hours later, Jason found himself leaning against the workstation in Tim’s mini Batcave, watching as Constantine and Tim bickered back and forth at the conference table over the various items they’d borrowed from Rathborne’s office. Okay, _ stolen _, but they did leave the professor and the body for Bruce to deal with, and a promise to return everything once Tim was no longer fun-sized.

They’d even brought the mask, which Constantine had taken one look at and thrown his trenchcoat over to shield them all from it. “Bad business there,” he’d said, and Jason didn’t disagree.

Glancing at the clock, he grimaced. It was almost dawn and while he’d had more strenuous nights, nothing managed to drain him more than a battle against the Pit-rage. “Hey, are you guys gonna get this show on the road or what? Some of us have better things to do than listen to you talk about old shit.”

Constantine and Tim shot him identical scowls. “I know it’s hard to believe, but there is a science to this,” the occultist stated flatly. “I’m fairly sure I know what was used to cast the spell, but the more I study Tim here, the more I’m convinced the curse isn’t incomplete. Something else is deflecting the worst effects of it, something with significant power.”

That was news to him. “You mean there’s an actual magical object in that pile of junk?”

“Besides the possessed mask? Yes.”

Tim opened the last plastic container. “I’m not sure what it could be. We’ve gone through everything that Rathborne had in his office.” He removed the batting and held up the old clay cup. “Dad found this during one of his first digs. I hate to say it, but Jason’s right. It’s not anything special, except to me for the sentimental value.”

Constantine’s face said something entirely different and Jason perked up, watching closely. He didn’t think it was possible for the man to turn that shade of white.

“Drake, do you have any idea what you’re holding?” the man asked after a moment, gaze intent on the cup.

“A 1st century CE drinking vessel?”

“Yeah, but – Damn, I wish one of you was sensitive enough to pick up on the purity of that cup.”

Jason shoved away from the workstation and joined them at the table. “You’ve said more than once I’m touched in the head. Does that mean anything here?”

Constantine gave him an assessing look. “It just might. Take off your gloves and touch it, just for a moment.”

“You’re not tryin’ to kill me, are ya?” Jason asked, doing as he was told and placing a bare hand against the rim.

He fell to his knees with a sharp gasp, missing Constantine’s reply. For the first time in his life, both of them, a sense of utter peace and calm tranquility replaced the simmering anger that was never far from the surface of his mind. An infinite void stretched out before him, around him, leaving him floating in the vast nothingness, alone but for the distant stars.

Words could not begin to describe the calm he felt. Was this what zen felt like? Enlightenment?

No, those weren’t quite right. It felt more like… Love. Forgiveness.

Jason jerked his hand away, ignoring the tears that streamed openly down his face. Distant memories of church and Sunday school roared to the surface, of communion with a God he only believed in because Willis Todd told him to.

_ “…Take this, all of you, and drink from it: for this is the chalice of my blood…” _

He looked up and Constantine nodded.

“Looks like I was right.”

“Right about what?” Tim asked, confused. “This is just a cup.”

“Tell me, Drake. Just how Christian are you?”

“I’m agnostic. And half Jewish, technically.”

“Then someone up there must really like you.” Constantine gestured to the plain, earthenware cup. “This is why you didn’t revert back completely. In fact, I’ve got a sneaking suspicion if you drink from it, the curse will be removed and without any lasting side effects.”

Tim narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying what I think you are?”

“Yeah.” Constantine shook his head, his amazement clear as day for any to behold. “You’re holdin’ the Holy Grail.”

“Fuck.”

“Language.”

“Fuck you.”

“Tim,” Jason tried, but the kid brushed him aside.

“You’re not the one who has to drink out of the Holy Grail. I think I’m entitled to a minor meltdown.”

“Fine. Just don’t drink coffee out of it, okay?”

Constantine choked.


	4. Epilogue

It was a week later when there was a firm knock at Jason’s front door. Remembering the last time that happened, he was more than a little reluctant to open it.

“Who is it?” he shouted, not even bothering to leave the sofa. With the wind and rain outside, he was ready for a quiet night in with his book and a pot of tea. Unlike Bruce, he took nights off. 

“Just let me in, Jason!” Tim called out. “My hands are full.”

What the hell? The last time he’d seen Tim, he wasn’t so tiny anymore, having regained his normal stature after psyching himself up to drink from the Grail. His lost memories were restored too, and Jason would never forget the wary edge that returned to Tim’s gaze when he looked at him.

Mended fences his ass, or so he’d believed when he rode out of there like Hell itself was on his heels.

“You’re a moron if you decided to venture out in this crap,” Jason stated when he flung open the door, remembering at the last moment that he wasn't wearing a shirt. Whatever, he hadn't had one on the last time he opened the door for Tim. “Are you asking to be put in traction? It’s cold enough we might see ice before dawn.”

Tim wasn’t in uniform. In fact, he was in street clothes. His hoodie was soaked through, but he had somehow managed to preserve the two large take-out bags he carried. From under his hood, he grinned. “I figured it was the only night I could catch you at home. You’re not answering your phone.”

There were plenty of reasons why he wasn’t, not for Tim, not for anyone. “Why are you here?”

“Dinner.” He held up the bags.

Jason shook his head but stepped aside so Tim could enter. “If this is some kinda payment for what I did for ya, I don’t want it.”

“Oh, you mean the hours of misery and griping I’ve had to deal with from Dick, Steph, and Alfred? Thank you _ so _ much for sending them every video and picture you took. I appreciate it. Really.”

The sarcasm made Jason laugh and he took hold of the bag Tim held out. “I didn’t share everything. Kept back the really good stuff for a special occasion.”

Such as the next time Tim annoyed the shit outta him.

“I don’t even want to know.”

Jason led Tim into the kitchen and dug through his bag. Inside was another plastic bag, this one sporting the logo of an upscale steakhouse he hadn’t been to in years. There was a medium-rare ribeye in one container, and numerous others that contained a plethora of side dishes, salad, and a small loaf of hot, crusty bread.

His stomach rumbled. But before he showed just what a heathen he was, there was a rather important question he needed an answer to. “Seriously, what’s all this for?”

A faint hint of color tinted Tim’s cheeks and he took a deep breath, fiddling with the worn cuffs of the hoodie he still hadn’t removed. “I was hoping we could continue a certain conversation that we aborted when I was… shorter. Over dinner. I’m not expecting anything else, but I’m willing to lay my cards out if you are.”

Jason opened his mouth and snapped it shut just as fast. He hadn’t expected that Tim would remember, let alone want to pursue it, but here he was, standing in his kitchen soaked to the skin and with dinner from a place that was definitely a step up from pizza. His own feelings were a jumbled mess when it came to the young man standing before him. However, there was one that stood out, forcing him to pause before shutting Tim down entirely. 

The peace he felt fall over him as soon as he saw Tim’s grin when he opened the front door. If that wasn’t a sign, then Jason didn’t know what was.

Okay. Time to take a leap of faith. It wouldn't be the first time.

“Sure. How about we put on a movie while we’re at it?”

Tim grinned again and Jason’s heart skipped a beat. “How does _ Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade _sound?”

“Sounds fucking perfect to me.”


End file.
